


Take It or Leave It

by WretiaBlue



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Claire Temple is So Done, Danny likes tea, Defenders Family (Marvel), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hurt Danny, Hurt Luke, Hurt Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Has a Power, Reader is an Author, Sweatshirt Stealing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24922258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WretiaBlue/pseuds/WretiaBlue
Summary: She can only take away sensations. So, no. No matter what, she can't give them back.~Or~The reader has a special ability which she uses when she first meets Daredevil eating asphalt by her apartment building. It all goes downhill from there. Or maybe not.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Take It or Leave It

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) counts it as a blessing, and she believes that. Really, she does. It’s not like she goes around looking for people in pain or lonely or suffering--or all of the above at once--and taking away their problems, if only for a while. She doesn’t go seeking new experiences, new emotions or feelings to steal. 

She’s a drug, if she’s being honest. Maybe worse than alcohol, more addictive than heroin and infinitely more difficult to acquire.

(Y/N) isn’t sure _how_ it happened. She doesn’t know why. It started when she was young, though, and reduced a crying mess of a toddler playdate into a confused and dull statue while she bawled over nothing. She can control it for the most part. She knows when she touches someone, she won’t accidentally take their happiness away. She won’t take away their weariness either, not unless she wants to, but she can still feel the faint affect the mood has on her. 

(Y/N) is _no_ hero, that much she swears to. She can’t fight, can hardly protect herself, doesn’t have a backstory that’s emotionally scaring enough. Brother? Military. Father? Left for milk when she was eight, didn’t come back. Mother? Middle-class, working woman who adored her children with all her heart. 

Nevertheless, (Y/N) has _power_ , and she knows how to use it. 

* * *

When she meets Matt, he’s actually Daredevil and when she meets Daredevil, he’s face first on the asphalt in an alley, covered in blood. There’s a burner in his slack fingers--she’s a writer, of _course_ she knows it’s a burner--and a concerned voice is speaking nonsense at the other end. _D? D! Damn it, you idiot, pick up!_

(Y/N) kneels next to the vigilante and picks up the phone. “Hi, my name is (Y/N/N), I’m not trying to hurt anybody. Your friend is unconscious, what should I do?”

She relays their position and follows the phone’s instructions on cataloging injuries. Nothing broken, that she knows of, just a lot of blood from lots of sliced skin and bleeding from the mouth and nose. Once she relays the information to the phone, she’s okayed to pick the vigilante off his face and maneuver him into a more comfortableish position on her lap.

(Y/N) checks to make sure there’s no one coming into this alley, then she sets the phone at her side, slips her fingertips over rough slick skin and she allows the pain to find her.

It’s an unbelievable fire all over her body, everything aches and pulls and throbs and _hurts_ and she stifles back a groan of sheer pain. Tears stream down her cheeks, but she holds the connection and soon the Devil is coming to.

The friend is on the phone, not speaking, just the sound of New York in the background and Daredevil tenses. “Who--”

 _Idiot!_ Cries the phone. _Why didn’t you call me sooner and what the hell were you doing on patrol when you just recovered from the last ass-whooping you got?_

He doesn’t answer the phone, just struggles vaguely against (Y/N)’s touch on his jaw. “Who are you?” he demands of her.

She smiles at him helplessly, tears rolling down her cheeks as she whimpers, “(Y/N/N). Nice to meet you.”

* * *

She explains what she can do later, after the woman--Claire--finds them and they shove the vigilante in a car. There’s someone’s apartment, a lot of stitches, and (Y/N) can do nothing but shiver and grit her teeth until the connection withers and the pain goes away. Or, rather, returns for Daredevil. 

He’s stiffer and he tilts his head at her, all grimace worked into his jaw and masked eyes glittering. “What did you do?”

They talk, (Y/N) demonstrates, they exchange thank yous and goodbyes and then she returns back home. 

She’d just gotten to her apartment building when she found him. He’d been laying in front of the door. Now, after several hours, she returned to the spot and went in.

* * *

Danny doesn’t know how it works, but he thinks he can help. 

She’s working at the bookshop, discreetly scribbling scenes in a notebook under the counter when the blonde shows up to look around. He “senses” something in her and they talk. They talk for hours, then talk some more. Her shift ends and he takes her for drinks. 

There’s a blind man at the bar and a phantom ache racks her body and he leans curiously in her direction. “Matt, this is (Y/N/N). (Y/N/N), this is my friend Matt.”

“I . . .” Eyes hidden in red circles. “We’ve met before.” She shakes his hand and one side of his mouth quirks. 

“Yes, yes we have.”

* * *

So Danny thinks that if she can meditate, learn to focus her inner strength, she can avoid the consequences of taking pain and perhaps improve the effects of taking pleasure. Additionally, perhaps there’s a way to experience someone else’s physiological responses without taking away the sense from them all together. 

Matt doesn’t roll his eyes for obvious reasons, but the attitude is there when the three of them meet again at Danny’s to experiment. Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, he’s more than capable of meditating along, so they all sit on Danny’s living room floor and breathe in sync and focus their thoughts.

Afterward, (Y/N) is no better off at advancing control of her ability, but she learns more or less how to meditate and that just because two crime-fighting friends share a nack for zen doesn’t mean they don’t get along swimmingly.

* * *

She keeps meditating more and more and then, one night, there’s a man at her door who is large, drenched to the bone in rain, and with a vigilante over his shoulder. Claire steps in behind while (Y/N) rapidly tries to compute and keep up, and soon there are four vigilantes and a nurse in her small studio apartment eight floors above the bookshop where she works--no elevator.

Danny is placed on her twin bed in one corner of the room while the big man apologizes and Matt pulls down the blinds on her one beloved window. Claire utilizes the bag slung over her shoulder to start pulling out supplies. The small woman locks her door and unceremoniously shoves everything on the bar/countertop/table to one crowded side to slap a curious object down that is about the size of a head, covered in gore, and an indefinable shape. 

“(Y/N/N),” she tells the big man.

“Luke.”

“Jessica,” says the other woman, looking pissed. “Got anything to drink?”

* * *

That night, Danny’s on her bed--bleeding on the sheets and mattress--and Claire props up a chair next to him. There’s a futon that folds out and (Y/N/N) flusteredly agrees to share it with Matt since she’s known him the longest. Luke curls up in front of the door and Jessica throws pillows and blankets down in the narrow kitchenette. 

(Y/N) wakes in the middle of the night for water and has to perform heroic levels of acrobatics to step off of the futon without bothering Matt, onto one of the barstools, reaching from the counter while avoiding the bloody _thing_ resting there to grab the cup by the sink. She prays to the gods of faucets that hers won’t act up and it silently starts and fills her cup. 

She parkours back to the futon and slackens into the cushion of it, heart beating fast and almost needing more water from the stress of trying to obtain it in the first place. Matt stirs when she returns to his side, must hear her heart as loudly as if she were broadcasting it, so she touches his hand lightly and steals away his concern. He drifts back into sleep after she snags his indignation as well and she can vanquish the negative feelings rapidly before she joins the group in slumber.

* * *

She’s meditating with Danny again and she wants to try to practice her ability. Conveniently Matt is injured from a recent outing--when _isn’t_ he injured?--and Danny teams up with her to try.

Matt isn’t in the mood for their shit and tells them as much while he limps around his kitchen, flinching at louder noises and wincing when he sits down. “I’m fine,” he insists tiredly, unfocused eyes wandering restlessly. “I did this to myself, it’s not fair to (Y/N/N).”

She’s already sitting next to him, so given his condition it isn’t hard to grab his hand despite his protests. The pain is sharp and intense and it makes her flinch. Danny’s on Matt before he can quite pull away and then as soon as the pain erupts, it dies back down. 

(Y/N) sighs and looks at Matt who is still struggling against Danny. “It’s gone!” she says breathlessly. The boys pause and look at her--or in her general direction--curiously. “Matt, what do you feel?”

His head tilts as he feels out his injuries and he moves ever so imperceptibly to listen. “The pain is gone, but my ribs are still cracked,” he says, then frowns at her with concern. “What about you?”

“Nothing!” she exclaims, breathlessly at first. “I’m fine!” she adds, much louder. Danny gets off of Matt and cheers. Matt sits up and squeezes her hand.

“You’re incredible,” he informs her, then wraps her in a hug. He’s still injured, but her touch is better than any aspirin or morphine and it’s far easier to let go of too. (Y/N) clings on to Matt for an hour and when she finally lets go, it takes another hour for the effects to sluggishly wear off. 

They invite the others to Matt’s to celebrate and (Y/N) starts to think that she might be doing something right.

* * *

Her first book comes out and further celebrating is brought to a halt when she’s sued for plagiarizing. She’s done nothing of the sort, but it’s being taken to court. Luckily, she knows _damn_ good lawyers.

She’s heard of Foggy and Karen, and the reverse is true, but when she meets them for the first time, she feels like she’d known them forever. They stay up late at (Y/N)’s place or at the office. Nelson and Murdock are known for their work in Hell’s Kitchen, but they conquer the court in the Lower East Side where (Y/N) lives. The case is closed in a matter of days in (Y/N)’s favor and the attention brought to the case brings millions of eyes to her first novel. 

Her publisher sells out of every copy of the first print in two weeks, she becomes a national bestseller and gains a dozen other literary titles. 

(Y/N) finally has money, for the first time in her life. She packs up her studio apartment and moves to the Upper West Side, closer to her super powered friends and their problems. She rents a single bed above a new bookstore and the building owner promises her a discount for her first year. She immediately starts in on her second novel and is asked to a large number of conventions and events to sign and ask questions and more. She’ll be paid for all of these things and in one fell swoop, she doesn’t have to do anything but be an author anymore. 

(Y/N) starts a blog where she makes money off of weekly progress updates on her new book, reviews on other books she’s read, announces events she’ll attend, and other writing-related news. It’s a hit and she takes all of her friends out to a fancy dinner and they all wind up at Josie’s afterward for cheap drinks and grimy familiarity--which is really more their speed anyway.

They all stumble off around midnight until it’s just Matt and (Y/N) left.

“Congratulations, (Y/N/N),” he grasps her arm softly, smile all inebriated and sincere. He kisses her forehead and they walk together to his place.

“I should get back home,” she says as they settle on his sofa. 

“This late?” he asks. It’s nearly three. “Or early, I suppose. Just crash here for a few hours tonight and get home in the morning.”

It’s Luke’s turn on (Y/N)’s couch when he gets attacked with mustard gas. Claire is grumbling as she juggles her supplies and her phone while (Y/N) takes away the sensory effects. 

Something she and Danny have discovered is that she can’t take away the injuries. She can’t take away the problem. She can only take the feelings, the experiences. Anything else is out of her reach. So the downside crashes down when pig-headed heroes think that no pain means a perfect opportunity to get back out into the fray. If they can’t feel it? Won’t bother them or hurt them further. Besides, kicking ass is more important. 

There’s one second of prickling and stinging and pain before (Y/N) focuses and it goes away, leaving both herself and Luke comfortable on the couch while Claire tries to cram-study how to treat a mustard gas patient.

At this point, Claire is surprised she’s never had to do it before now.

**Author's Note:**

> Almost done with chapter two! Steaminess ahead, hopefully . . .


End file.
